


laugh about it, shout about it

by greenurr



Series: Single Parent Poe 'verse [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Cars, Chaptered, Father Figures, Fluff, Friendship, Growing Up, Multi, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Polyamory, Sickfic, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenurr/pseuds/greenurr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slices of life in the Single Parent Poe 'Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. blow chilly and cold

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! You may have noticed I kind of... dropped off the face of the planet. Sorry, you guys. I have a lot of excuses: work and school both picked up, I don't have as much time for writing, I lost my inspiration, whatever. I pretty much got burnt out, but now I'm back! These are just going to be short little one shots about the life of Poe, Finn, Rey, and BB, jumping around in time. The first chapter is the year after the main fic, when BB is in second grade.

It starts in the second grade. Finn knows, because BB has it, but it hasn’t hit the kids in his grade yet. She’s pathetic when she’s sick, and doesn’t even mean to be, sad-faced and coughing, sweaty and chilled by turns, calling for Poe.

And Poe comes. He always comes. He stays by her bedside for hours at a time, takes time off of work to care for her. Strokes her sweaty hair back from her face, plays games with her when she feels good enough and reads her stories when she doesn’t. There’s not a lot Finn and Rey can do, beyond supplying Gatorade bottles and making pot after pot of chicken noodle soup. They love BB, and she loves them, but there’s something to be said about having the man who wiped every runny nose you’ve ever had at your bedside when you’re sick. It’s familiar, and comforting, but it doesn’t keep Finn and Rey from worrying.

In fact, they were so worried that, during celebratory ‘Our-Daughter-Isn’t-Sick-Anymore-And-Hooray-We-Can-Have-Sex-Again’ sex, Finn is so relieved he doesn’t even notice how warm Poe is until Rey pulls her mouth off of Poe’s cock and says, “You’re kind of hot.”

Poe laughs a little, weakly. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“No, like—” Rey frowns and breaks off, bats Finn away from where he’s eating her pussy. “Finn, feel his forehead.”

Finn lays his hand against Poe’s forehead, and then his own forehead against Poe’s. It’s something his mom used to do. Finn hisses and pulls back.

“Sweetheart, you’re burning up,” Finn says. Poe is abnormally warm, so warm that it’s alarming, and as Finn pulls back he can see that Poe’s eyes are unfocused, not from pleasure but from fever.

“I’m not sick,” says Poe, and then coughs directly into Finn’s face. Finn lets the warm, damp, no doubt germ infested wave of air wash over him.

“Wow, haven’t had that happen to me since I subbed in the preschool,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Poe says, and frowns, flaps one of his hands ineffectually. Finn frowns, too. It’s unlike Poe to be so lethargic. Come to think of it, he had been quiet all evening, heading almost straight to bed as soon as he had put BB down to sleep. He hadn’t said no when Finn and Rey had pounced on him, but he also hadn’t reacted as enthusiastically as he always did.

“Baby, were you just going to have sex with us even though you’re feverish?” asks Finn, stroking Poe’s hair away from his face. He has a fine sheen of sweat on his brow, and color high in his cheeks, which is unusual for him.

“I mean, I wasn’t exactly suffering through it,” says Poe, and nods down to where Rey is still crouched between his legs, stroking one hand up and down his thigh.

“Poe,” says Rey, flatly.

“Yeah,” says Poe, and sighs in resignation. He flaps his hand again. “Do what you must.”

Rey immediately snaps into action. “Finn, go check our Gatorade supply and put on the chicken stock.” An unholy glint comes into her eye. “I’m going to go get more _blankets_.”


	2. we'll marry our fortunes together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place when BB, CP, and Rodney are 13 years old. The title is from "America" by Simon and Garfunkel, which to me is the most co-dependent inherently teenage song they've ever written.

Rodney is standing, open mouthed and breathing heavily, in front of GameMart.

“Rodney, come on,” says BB, frowning down at her phone, looking at the most recent text from Rey. “My mom’s gonna pick us up in like 15 minutes, we have to get to the North-West entrance.”

“That gives us at least 10 minutes to go into this store,” says Rodney. “Come on, I spent like 20 minutes in Lush with you guys.”

BB raises a single eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it, R2-D2,” she says, using the old nickname from first grade. Rodney rolls his eyes.

“Of course I did, I got three new bath bombs. But they have a demo of Kill Kill Kill III in there and I _need_ to play it.”

CP shifts from foot to foot. “I’m worried about time,” she says, frowning.

Rodney holds up a hand. “Five minutes,” he says, “I swear to God, five minutes.”

BB raises a single eyebrow, to ask, _that okay_? CP shrugs, and Rodney is practically vibrating, so it’s good enough.

“Alright, in we go,” she says, waving a hand regally. Rodney pops off immediately to ask the bored twenty-something about the demo, and BB tweaks the end of CP’s shiny blonde hair.

“You okay?” she asks. CP’s anxious, almost amber eyes look out at her from behind big glasses.

“As long as we leave in—” CP checks her own phone, “—four minutes we should be fine. So I’m okay, don’t worry about me, Belinda.”

BB huffs a laugh. “Shut the frick up,” she says, and gently shoves CP’s skinny frame with her shoulder.

The two of them are built almost the opposite, CP long and so slim a strong wind might blow her over, BB round as a pinecone and still 4’10” at 13, with pretty much no hope of changing that. Rodney is in the exact middle of the two of them, short for a boy their age but surprisingly muscled. His dad is the same way, though, so she supposes the Chou’s just run short and stocky.

CP shifts from foot to foot again, and BB watches her out of the corner of her eye. CP gets nervous about things, little things, like being on time and having her colored pens for school lined up in the right way. Rodney doesn’t really get it, and BB doesn’t either, but they both adjust themselves to make CP’s life a little easier. Line up their shoes at the door when they come over, so CP doesn’t have to pretend to go to the bathroom and run downstairs to put their things back in order. Make sure to get everywhere 10 minutes early. Stand with her as she locks and relocks her front door when they meet at her place to walk to school together. Since they have a time-cushion of at least 15 minutes every morning, it’s not so big of a deal.

They have different roles, the two of them. BB checks in, constantly, and moving around CP unobtrusively, making things work behind the scenes. Rodney is the enforcer. CP checks in with BB at lunch period, to make sure that someone else remembers her locking the door. BB pulls at CP’s hair, lightly, to get her attention and offer reassurance, even when CP doesn’t ask for it.

Rodney is the enforcer. “Ten locks and relocks,” he says. “Ten.” And when ten times is over, he gently grasps CP’s shoulder or her hip, sometimes even her hand, to lead her away from the door. Makes her to double high-five her a few times a day, crowing, “Ten times!” Back when it was fifty, he would double high-five her five times in a row, and shout “Fifty times!” at the end of it.

Eventually, BB secretly thinks, they might be able to get it down to five, a single-handed high-five between the two of them. One isn’t going to happen, but five is doable. BB giggles a little bit at the image of Rodney and CP very solemnly touching their pointer fingers together and whispering “One time,” in unison.

“When did Rey—I mean, your mom, text?” BB had started calling Rey “Mom” and Finn “Papa” when she turned 12, but sometimes there are still slip-ups.

“4:37,” says BB. “We should get Rodney out of here now, probably.”

CP hums in agreement, happy not to have to be the one to say it first.

“Yo! Rodney!” shouts BB.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” says Rodney, putting down the controller and giving the Bro Nod to the guy behind the counter.

BB’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She takes it out and looks at it. “Papa wants to know if you guys are planning to come to dinner,” she says.

Rodney shrugs. “As long as dear old Dad isn’t cooking,” he says. “No offense, but he’s awful.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it’s fine,” says BB. “No offense taken, Daddy could burn water. I have no idea how we lived before Papa and Mom came along.”

“Probably a lot worse,” says CP and BB nods.

“Yeah, probably,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are welcome! Thanks so much for reading!


	3. restless walks she'll prowl the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey meets a strange man. And his dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback scene to Rey meeting Han for the first time, the summer after her senior year of high school. Title comes from "April Come She Will" by Simon and Garfunkel.

It’s hot. It’s hot as hell. There's only a little bit of wind, and it doesn't help, drifting in through the window. _Like the Devil breathing down your neck_ , Rey’s foster-mom would say. Rey can feel a little bit of the Devil.

Rey sighs, and takes her oatmeal out of the microwave. It’s the cheapest breakfast food there is, but it’s hot. She winces as the steam from the bowl hits her face, guzzles it down as fast as possible to get it out of the way. It sits nastily in her belly, but she doesn’t have time to do anything about it, not when it’s nearly time to go to work.

_I should get a hat,_ Rey thinks, as soon as she steps out into the real heat. The sun is strong, and it’s so hot the air is wavering above the pavement. It’s the kind of heat that will stick her sneakers to the sidewalk if she doesn’t get a move on, but she’s already outside, and going in feels like too much effort. The back of her neck is already burning as she heads towards the center of town.

She’s only a few blocks away when the sound of a man shouting rouses her from her heat-stupor. It’s the local mechanic, out on the driveway in front of the stop.

“Hey!” he shouts, pointing at Rey.

She points at herself, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah, you. You got two working hands?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, come on, I need you hold something up for me.” He vanishes into the garage behind him. Rey looks towards the road, where she can see the supermarket. It’s wavering in the heat, like a false oasis in the desert. She’s late for work. It doesn’t feel real. Nothing has felt real for years.

She can see cars in the garage. A truck, up on a block. Beautiful.

“You coming, or do I have to scream someone else off the streets?”

Rey comes.

The garage is dark, and blessedly cool. There’s an ancient, wheezing air conditioner going in one corner, and a little dog laying right underneath it. It lifts it’s head when she comes in, and settles it back down, ignoring her.

“I just need you to lift this,” Han says, motioning to jagged piece of metal emerging from the front of a totaled car. “I’m trying to salvage the pieces. Watch the edges, they’re sharp.” Rey hums, and does as she’s told.

“You just graduated, right?” the mechanic asks, sticking his head into the engine. “I’ve seen you around.”

“Yessir, I’m just working at the supermarket for now. Saving up, you know.” Saving up to get out of this town, out of this life, out of this shithole she’s found herself buried in. Nevermind that she’ll never have enough money. Never mind that she can’t get out of this town, out of this life, will never be able to keep herself from feeling that she’s drowning.

“Can you grab me the, uh—” Rey has the correct wrench in his hands before he can even ask for it. He stares a the wrench in his hands, then looks up and stares at her.

“What did you say your name was?” he asks.

“Didn’t. It’s Rey.” She holds her hand out to shake. He nods, thoughtfully, and takes it.

“Han Solo,” he says. “You like cars, Rey?”

“Yes,” she says, her eyes drifting over the rusted engines and shiny hubcaps, the cornucopia of twisted metal spread out for her here, in this shop. “Very much.”

Han nods, and then whistles sharply, startling Rey. The little dog in the corner lifts it’s head up.

“Chewie,” Han says. “Come’ere boy, come meet Rey.” Chewie trots over, sniffs at her hand.

Han bends down to pick him up, adjusting the bow on the top of his dog’s head. Rey blinks. This, the cool of the shop, the engines and the machinery, but most of all, this strange man with his little dog. Nothing has felt real in years. Rey holds her hand out to Chewie, and the dog licks it once, delicately.

Nothing has felt real but this.


	4. i will lay me down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a party, and everyone's coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I return, after five months of radio-silence, like a writer's blocked phoenix rising from the ashes, with 2 AM bittersweet angst. Thanks to everyone who's reading this now, I know it's been a while. Love you guys.
> 
> Title from "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon and Garfunkel.

It’s a party, and everyone’s coming. BB’s graduated high school, BB’s going off to college in Massachusetts next week, it’s so far away. Everyone come say goodbye to BB, it’s a party, and everyone is invited.

And it’s not like BB’s particularly opposed. She’s a friendly girl, but Mama and Daddy and Pops have a lot of friends, and she has a lot of friends, and as it is they don’t really have enough room for everyone at the party to fit into their apartment. People are spilling down the stairs, standing in the late June heat, out on the little parking lot in front of the building. People are everywhere, and everyone is saying goodbye to her, and it’s just a lot. It’s just a lot, and sometimes, between all the cheek pinching and well-wishing she wishes everyone would just leave. Everyone would just leave and she and Mama and Daddy and Papa could be home, just them, just the most important people.

No one’s leaving though, because the party’s just begun, and she lost track of all three of her parents as soon as it started. She can’t go to her room for privacy, partly because she’s the star of this all, but mostly because she’s in the middle of packing and she just can’t deal with that sight right now.

She takes a deep breath in and out, nabs a beer, and while no one is looking, climbs out the kitchen window and onto the fire escape. It’s tiny, and right above the dumpster, but there’s no one on it.

Or, at least, there should be no one on it, but there is, and he’s taking up a lot of the space. He’s six feet tall at least, wearing all black, smoke rising up as he exhales around a cigarette. He’s mostly facing away from her, but she knows who he is. His hair is still beautiful, and BB still hates Ben Organa-Solo just a little bit.

It’s nice to know some things never change. 

He’s grown up since she last saw him. He has a beard, now, and it suits him, even though his face is still a little dopey, just like it was at 13. He’s in a band now, she’s heard, in New York. He sings. He’s good at it too, apparently, because he makes enough dough that he’s never had to come crawling back to his mother for money. 

“Guess they really invited everybody, huh?”

He turns around to look at her, and smiles, a little ruefully. There’s a bit of a blush staining his upper cheekbones, and she remembers that about him, from years and years of bickering, how red he always got, right at the drop of a hat. This looks like embarrassment though, and maybe a bit of a nicotine high, not anger.

“I’m back visiting my mom,” he says. “I really didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Ooh, you don’t want to mess with Mama Organa when she tells you to do something,” says BB, cracking open her beer on the edge of the railing. He looks at her, and looks at the beer, and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, and then closes it again. She’s glad he does. It’s not that she particularly enjoys punching that mouth, it’s just that sometimes he opens it and certain things have to happen.

“I hear a congratulations are in order,” he says, instead. “Full-ride to MIT.” He whistles, a long, sloping note.

She shrugs, faux-modest. “Full-ride except room and board.”

“Still,” he says. “Good work. Want to go into engineering, like your daddy?”

“I don’t know,” she says, even though she does. She’s proud of her dad, thinks that what he does is important, but it’s too applied for her. She wants to go back to fundamentals, back to mathematics. Ever since she first learned algebra in fifth grade she’s loved it, the purity of the numbers, the calm she achieves once she works through a problem. She hasn’t told anyone yet, but she knows. “How’s the band?” she asks, instead.

“Good,” he says. “We’re actually going on a European tour soon, so I came to visit Ma before I was gone for five months.”

He inhales and exhales again, long. She wonders about his voice, if he should be smoking. She twitches her fingers, and he hands the cigarette over to her without complaint. She takes a drag, then hands it back to him, exhales. Maybe it’s the quiet, cut off from the buzz of the party, or maybe it’s the sunset. Maybe it’s achieving a conversation with Ben Organa-Solo that didn’t immediately descend into a shouting match that makes her open her mouth.

“You know what started all this,” she says, motioning a hand in between them, like that can encompass what the are, years of sniped comments and hurt feelings, lashing out and ruined family gatherings. It piles on and it piles on and it piles on, and twelve years later BB feels like having a civilized conversation shouldn’t be such an achievement, but it is. It really is.

“I pushed you off a swing,” he says, staring out into the sunset.

“I always wanted to ask you why. I could never think of a good way to do it. But why did you?" 

“You can blame your parents, really,” he says, huffing a laugh.

“What?” she asks.

“I’d lost my dad. I lost a parent, at the same time that you gained two. How was that fair? And I know you were a baby, and I know I shouldn’t have done it, but we didn’t usually have recess together, remember? But for some reason, on that day we did, and I was staring at you, staring at your back as you swang, your little legs pumping away and I hated you, I hated you so much because you were up there flying, and I felt like I was sinking into mud, every day, deeper and deeper. I was digging myself there, really. Trying to get back to my dad. “

“You cared about him that much?”

“We never got along, actually. Even when I was little, like a little kid. It kills me, because I think we would have gotten along, now. I think- I think he would like me, now. Maybe. I don’t know. But I cared about him. I always did.”

BB decides, with that, that she is a little too drunk for this white boy Dad-angst and stands up.

“Well, that fucking sucks,” she says, and burps. 

“Eloquent as always,” he says. “Stick to math, it’s more your thing.”

“You noticed?” she asks, staring down at him.

“Of course,” he says. “Finn always posted your math tests up on the fridge. Perfect hundreds, every one. I was always so jealous, even after I graduated.”

“Yeah, well, I listened to one or two of your songs. They don’t suck." 

“High flattery.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She climbs back into the kitchen, setting the empty beer bottle down on the counter.

“Hey,” he says, and she turns around, leans out the window.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“I’m going to be touring, like I said, for the next few months,” he says, hesitantly, looking down at his almost smoked out cigarette. “But you’ll be in Boston, I’ll be in New York. I don’t know. Maybe we could see each other.”

He looks so boyish, then, even though he’s six years older than her, with a beard and everything. She gets swept up in it all, for a moment, the parties and the goodbyes, the sunset and the shared cigarette. Then she comes back down from it because, BB, just like her Mama, is practicality at her very core.

“Probably not,” she says, as kindly as she’s able.

“But maybe,” he says, catching her eye.

“Yeah,” she says. “Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is just a little bit of an explanation as to why it's been so long, so if you're not interested, please don't feel bad for not reading. I just feel like I should explain. I basically entered into a really long depressive episode that I'm just now starting to crawl my way out from, which caused some serious writers block. I also got some comments on some previous installments which discouraged me a bit. Everybody has the right to their opinion, of course, but I was a delicate flower at the time and rather took them to heart. I just felt that I had sort of done everything I could with this 'verse, but I think part of me didn't really believe it, because I kept coming back to these fics over and over, re-reading your lovely comments and wishing I could give you guys more. And now here it is! I'm kind of climbing back onto the wagon with this one, but I've already started writing one more that is going to be it's own, separate installment, and I have ideas for at least another shorter story to add to this collection of fics. I can't promise how much I'm going to do, but I am very happy to be back in the saddle.
> 
> I do really want to thank all of you guys. I know it seems like everyone always says this, but your comments really kept me going, kept me writing, and made me so happy. I'm so glad that you like what I'm write, and I'm so thankful to everyone who's ever told me how my fic touched them, whether it made them laugh or cry or go off somewhere private and jack it. That's my goal, you guys, I always write for your reactions.
> 
> Anyway, this turned into a little bit of a soppy essay, but as always, feel free to comment and kudos and thank you so, so much for sticking with me. 
> 
> (Oh, also, PS, a little bit of an explanation of Ben/Kylo Ren here. I Fucking Hate Him in the movies, but the Ben in my 'verse has had a lot of therapy and so while he does tend towards dramatics and self-loathing, and does have a bit of a temper (like his Ma!) he's generally a pretty good dude. He was just a stupid kid who'd recently lost his dad, and BB and he push each other's buttons. I just couldn't, in good conscience, have Leia's son be awful. I love her too much for that. Ben, btw, is a big mama's boy, as he fucking should be.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking with it! Comments and kudos feed my lil ego, so if you'd like to, drop some!


End file.
